


The Undiscovered Demon

by daxion (jelasdax), jelasdax



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Related, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 00:56:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelasdax/pseuds/daxion, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelasdax/pseuds/jelasdax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg sits up after Crowley stabs her. Things don't always go according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Undiscovered Demon

Meg sits up, hand going to the wound in her stomach. That'll be a bitch to clean, though maybe Clarence will help her out with that as well. Wouldn't that be a nice image, Angel Boy on his knees and -

There's a man standing before her. Old and thin, she could probably take him without too much trouble if not for the otherness swirling around him. She draws back a bit internally, trying to work it out, but physically stays on the ground. 

You never know when a bit of damsel in distress can work to your advantage. 

The old geezer keeps looking at her, almost amused. It pisses her off. That's her territory, and the fact that this guy hasn't said anything yet makes him a threat. To be fair, most everyone is a threat these days. Speaking of, where is Crowley? It's not like him not to gloat more. 

"He left."

She's startled but fuck if she'll let it show. Meg gasps a bit with apparent pain before falling back to the ground, clutching her stomach. Come closer, you fucker. 

"Please. Don't put yourself out on my account. That's not necessary."

She snaps a little. "I'm in pain, moron, what with the gaping wound in my gut and all."

He looks at her, silently. 

"Please."

Or not so silently, then. What the hell, is he amused or something? Probably not a hero type, then. 

"I'm neither hero nor villain. And I think it's time for you to get off the ground." 

It's said simply, but chills go through her borrowed flesh. The fucker can hear her think. How is that possible. She's a demon; there's nothing out there that can read demons. 

That she knows of. 

Goddamn. 

"And why should I do that? So you can try to stab me like Chuckles did? I think I'll pass."

But she stands anyway, making sure to keep her face clear. Keeping herself away from creepy on legs is just an added bonus.

"Your theatrics are getting you nowhere. I'm not one to be taken in like that. Though I can see why he likes you."

There's a considering tilt to his head at that, and she bristles. She's no one to be taken lightly, to be brushed off; better to be hated and feared than dismissed. 

"Yeah, most people like me. I'm really a swell gal." Her smile has teeth. 

He smiles slightly, and it sends more chills through her. What is he. 

Meg's eyes blink and in the next second he's staring down at something, something at her feet. Her shoes are nice and all, thanks, the blood really does something to them, but he's not looking at her feet. 

He's looking at her host. 

He's looking at her decomposing body what the hell where is she what is he how can she kill him -

And the fucker laughs. It's more a huff of air than a laugh, and it's unsettling as shit. 

"You can't kill me. Though some have tried."

Her eyes (how does she have eyes if her host is on the floor in front of her, why isn't she formless and smoke, what the hell is going on here) slide back to his face and she laughs only a little hysterically. 

"I know some pretty impossible people."

Creepy's eyes soften, and seriously, what the fuck is he. "Castiel won't save you. He doesn't even know of your circumstances." That hurts. Not that she'd ever admit it. "And the Winchesters have their own problems to deal with, as always. In fact -"

"Get it over with." Is that really her voice? She's stronger than this walking advert for dying young. She's better than this. Pull it together and survive. That's all that matters in the end. 

"That's not all." 

Meg's teeth bare against her will, but she rolls with it. "Do you like swimming around in my head, old timer? Want to see some really fun things?" And just like that she's back in Hell, the screams and her knife in her hand and another in her gut, being remade and remaking something else at the same time. It was glorious, her father trained her well, and she revels in it and shoves it at the thing across from her, taunting her, mocking her. 

He lifts an eyebrow and she's pulled from her own thoughts. Bummer. It was a nice escape. 

"Yes, I can see why Castiel has such fondness for you." He reaches for something from inside his coat and she tenses, lips tightening against her will. She's not scared of this asshole, not at all.

It's a pocket watch. What the fuck is this geezer playing at? 

"Be that as it may, I'm afraid it's time to go."

She smiles. Yeah, no. Not happening. "But my mother always said not to go with strangers. And I'm such a good girl." If she has to, she will gleefully rip his face from his skull. She's not going anywhere. He steps towards her and she can't move, oh fuck, this is it, she's going to die (again) and she wants to have rolled in the hay once more with Clarence, man that would have been a great send off and she doesn't want to die, not for real, not this time.

Death takes her hand and then there is no more.


End file.
